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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847883">Taste your beating heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13'>Ellerigby13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Breathplay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flirting, Halloween, Marijuana, Meet-Cute, Nomad Steve Rogers, One Night Stands, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Smut, Tarot, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:15:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26847883</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On the run after the fight in Berlin, Steve and the gang find themselves in Las Vegas, meeting at a seedy bar and drinking cheap whiskey to get through shared intel that might just help them come back to society.</p><p>Steve hates Vegas.  But he doesn't necessarily hate the sweet little tarot reader that blows into the bar one night, with her crystal blue eyes and an electric touch.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Darcy Lewis/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Taste your beating heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gratuitous mentions of Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, and Tenacious D.  You know me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart<br/>Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart<br/>-"Howl," Florence and the Machine</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“What’s your poison, pal?” Natasha asked, her smile turning catlike as she took Steve in from the other side of the bar.  Steve, feeling only slightly less amused, sighed and rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whiskey, neat.  Please and thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she whirled around, thick black hair bouncing near her elbows, Steve straightened on the barstool and wished, hoped, almost prayed that this shot might contain some of the buzz he missed from his pre-serum days, knowing it wouldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he mention that he hated Las Vegas?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been holed up in this dusty place on the outskirts of the city for the last few months, chasing a lead that she had suggested, tapping into her spy skills to follow up on a tip that would shred Thaddeus Ross’ credibility and, along with it, hopefully, the Sokovia Accords.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Living this way was relatively safe.  Nobody had recognized any of them, to Steve’s knowledge, and they kept their distance.  The dank little motel where he’d found a cheap room paid in cash was filled with other people who also slipped in and out of their dens at all times of the day and night, so no one questioned when he did the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was convenient, sure, but Steve still hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he caught up with the others here, he’d taken a job in construction to keep himself active and busy, so that every time his mind threatened to wander toward Wakanda, he could bring down another sledgehammer and sweep the thoughts away with the rubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Six bucks,” Natasha said, sliding a double of Jameson in front of him.  Steve passed her a ten, trying not to look like he was noticing Sam on the other end of the bar, or Wanda perched at a booth with her nose in a book a few feet away.  When Nat handed him his change, he slid his hand over the pile, much larger than four dollars should have been, to shield it from prying eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that anyone here would be prying.  This place was a dirty little dive, the same dozen or so old men with young girlfriends drinking away their troubles to songs on the same old jukebox, paying their checks with money they didn’t have.  Steve could slip the USB into his pocket safely without being noticed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”  Nat leaned down to rinse out an empty pint glass, scrubbing away the water with a rag.  “You tip as good as you drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rolled his eyes again and crumpled a few bills onto the bartop before something else caught his eye.  Near the back door sat an empty round table, classed up by what looked like black mesh curtain cast around it into something like a small alcove, and a couple of blood red tea lights in the middle to illuminate the dark corner of the bar.  It hadn’t been there the last time Nat asked the whole gang to get together here on a tip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s goin’ on there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat glanced over her shoulder, her lips curling upward again.  “It’s Halloween, chief.  We got a fortune teller coming in later.”  Her slender fingers pushed a nickel across the bartop toward him.  “Here.  Put something spooky on, will ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The barstool creaked unpleasantly when he stood, the legs scraping across the grime on the floor.  Nobody looked up as he made his way to the jukebox to pop in the nickel and select a song with one hand while the other set down his glass and slipped the earpiece Natasha had left him out of the coin return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crunchy guitar strummed from the machine, and on his way to his usual booth a few yards down from the fortune teller’s table, he pressed the earpiece into place.  He pretended to take a call, not that anyone was watching, and Sam’s voice filled his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t take you for a Stevie Nicks fan, Cap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who isn’t?” Wanda said.  He could hear the smile on her lips.  “What’s this tip, then, Nat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve let his eyes flicker back toward the bar.  Natasha had cradled the bar’s phone to her ear, the red cord curlicuing into the wall.  “I got a contact I’m meeting in the morning.  Ross’ old secretary.  She worked for him for a year, started seeing some discrepancies in the paperwork he wanted her to file, said he got a little handsy when she brought it up.  The money was good, so she stuck around a while, documented what she could, and saved it for when something big came up.  I split up what she sent me into your flash drives.  Thought it was smarter not to have it all together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like cause for celebration,” he said flatly, bringing his glass back to his lips.  “You think she’s legit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems to be the case.  Her history lines up, I made a few calls.  She checks out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good.  Hiding was exhausting.  He missed being able to sit down and eat a cheeseburger without wearing a ball cap or sunglasses.  Missed going on runs.  Missed, for far too long, not having to sneak into another continent to spend time with his best friend or exist in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, he supposed, some small part of him missed Tony; whether or not the reverse was true, the jury was still out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A jingling at the front door made his head snap up, his shoulders tense in that familiar defensive reflex.  A young woman strolled through the door in a wispy black dress and sunhat, dark curls spilling down her bare shoulders.  She smiled a red-lipped smile toward the bar and lifted a dainty hand to wave in Nat’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” Nat rushed into her earpiece, and pretended to lower her phone to her shoulder.  Her words continued to come in crystal clear.  “Hey, Darcy.  Spot’s all set up for you, in the back there.  Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy thanked her, blew a kiss, and continued through the bar, drawing the wandering eye of more than a few of the dirty old creeps from their girlfriends.  In all fairness, it was hard not to look; she was built like Shelley Winters, full curves sloping gracefully in her dress, and with every step her rounded hips swayed back and forth, her little kitten heels clicking across the floor, like she knew exactly what she was doing.  Very different from the average Las Vegas gal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda’s voice snapped him out of staring.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> your fortune teller?  What’s a nice girl like that doing in a place like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Telling fortunes,” Nat answered simply.  “Her friend owns this place.  I’d imagine she’s doing a favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sam cleared his throat.  “As excited as I am to get my crystal ball read, can we get it back on track?  Where you meetin’ this former secretary?  You goin’ it alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re meeting at the diner down on Christopher St. around ten.  Might be nice to have some backup.  One of you boys wanna play bodyguard?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me,” Sam volunteered, faster than Steve could open his mouth.  “Cap’s too recognizable.  And with all the love in the world, Wanda, I don’t know that we want the kind of attention that those magic hands’ll bring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point,” Wanda said, and Steve could almost hear her relaxing into her seat.  “Maybe Steve and I can run recon.  He can play my boyfriend again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever since Nat had told the other two about their awkward experience playing newlyweds in D.C., he hadn’t heard the end of it.  Wanda in particular liked to tease him whenever they played a couple, and in spite of himself, his cheeks went hot just about every time she brought it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, eyes flickering back toward the fortune teller in her alcove.  She’d leaned back into the seat against the wall, lit the candles in the middle of the table, and smiled sweetly at her first customer, a middle aged man who they’d seen come in with a new girl every time they met here.  “Let’s just get what we need and get outta there.  This place gives me the creeps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”  Nat was smiling.  “Better be talking about Vegas, and not my bar.  Little shithole’s grown on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the plan worked out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Steve reminded himself, they could be done with Las Vegas and the miles of desert all around, and maybe someday soon he and these people, his family, could walk in public freely, be Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and Natasha Romanoff and Wanda Maximoff again without fear of being sent out to the middle of the ocean again.  And Bucky would be with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lowered his phone at last, resting both elbows on the table in front of him, and drained the last of his whiskey.  With this breakthrough on the horizon, it still felt foreign to even try and relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” he heard Natasha muttering into his earpiece, a rustling coming from her end.  When his head lifted, right in front of him the man at the alcove was wobbling forward dangerously, drunk and lustful, and threatening to topple the fortune teller’s table and her candles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve didn’t realize that his feet had gotten under him until he was halfway across the bar, grabbing at the curtain.  He wasn’t sure what he planned to do - if he knocked this guy out cold it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bring that unnecessary attention Sam was talking about earlier - but before he could decide, the dark haired woman had pulled a little purple rectangle from her purse and stuck it against the man’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He straightened in his chair, tall and stiff and the slightest bit jerky, and then it was tipping backward, and Steve didn’t think to keep him from falling on his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She...tased him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Rex, get him out of here,” Nat barked at the bouncer, and in a moment Rex’s two mitt-like hands were on his shoulders and dragging the dirty bastard out of the bar, into the back alley.  “Darcy - shit, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucker needs to learn to keep his hands to himself,” she said coolly, plopping backwards into her seat, but in her expression Steve could still see the draining effects of adrenaline, panic in her soft blue eyes like a caged animal.  “Hope I didn’t cause you any trouble, Rose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat scoffed, her hands fixing to her hips.  “Me, trouble?  Half these assholes are waiting on an excuse to get kicked out for life.  You’re just makin’ it easy for me.”  She dug an elbow into Steve’s ribs, grinning.  “Now, this guy, with his whole hero complex, damsel-in-distress shtick - you tase </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>next, I’ll buy a drink for the whole bar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy lifted her chin to look him in the eye, her plump lips parting to show the tiny gap between her two front teeth - and then she grinned, placing a dainty hand on the stack of well-worn cards resting beside her candles.  “How ‘bout we start with a reading?  Play your cards right - or wrong, rather - maybe we get you that tasing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something fluttered low in his belly, something between annoyance with Nat for offering him up like this and a delightful curiosity to sit down with this woman to hear what she had to say.  Steve could taste the whiskey on his own breath as he muttered out, “Yeah, okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat, on the other hand, looked like the cat that ate the canary.  “I’ll bring you two a couple of whiskey Cokes.  On the house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Darcy said cheerfully, and as Nat winked on her way back to the bar, Steve found a hesitant seat, suddenly not sure what to do with his hands.  “Okay, mister,” she continued, shuffling her tarot deck the same way he’d watched a blackjack dealer do.  “I want you to think about a question you want answered, a problem you want solved, somethin’ that’s been on your mind lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A question or a problem?  He had plenty of those.  Running from the law, saving his best friend, finding a goddamn bed to sleep in and a roof to put above his head that didn’t remind him how constantly fucked he and his friends were, to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his eyes to hers, and the moment he saw her gently smiling back, his insides damn near threatened to burst with affection.  She lay the deck in three stacks in front of him.  “I want you to put them back together, however feels right for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay…”  Touching the cards felt a little more personal than he expected it to - the worn corners showed that they’d been well-loved, a part of her.  As if he could get a feeling of who Darcy was just with her cards in his hand.  He stacked the three piles back one on top of the next, almost hesitating to move his hand away.  “You know, it’s okay if you’re still feelin’ a little shaky with what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not shaky,” she insisted, spreading out her cards into two long fans in front of her.  “Assholes like that guy are a dime a dozen around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, so sweet.”  He had to fight the urge to jump when he heard Natasha’s voice still in his ear; the piece was still on - she could hear everything that he and Darcy were saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Captain to the rescue,” Sam chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dull flush filled the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he grunted, straightening in his chair and trying to school his expression into his best poker face.  “I don’t...particularly like Vegas.”</span>
</p><p><span>A line of confusion formed between Darcy’s eyebrows, but she was smiling incredulously, her hands pausing their movements.  “Then what are you</span> <span>doing here?”</span></p><p>
  <span>The flush had spread to his chin, and was slowly creeping up his jaw.  “What every other desperate fuck around here does when he’s strapped for cash.  Finding a last resort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t realize how tense her shoulders were until she let them drop, her back melding into her chair as she let out a soft laugh.  “Ain’t that the truth.”  She let her hands fall to her sides now, the long semicircles of tarot cards resting ominously in front of her.  “Okay.  So what we’re gonna do today is a past-present-future reading.  You’re gonna pick three cards, keeping your question in mind, and put them in front of you left to right.  Hold on,” she added quickly, when he lifted his hand to grab the first card in front of him.  “Don’t just pick at random.  But don’t think too hard about it either.  I know it sounds crunchy and stupid, but give yourself a second to breathe, and let yourself try to feel which cards are reaching out to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Reaching out to me?” he repeated.  They all looked the same; larger than a regular playing card, the backs a royal blue color offset with identical gold diamonds in the middle.  “How do I know if it’s reaching out to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy shrugged.  “If there’s a card that keeps catching your eye, or one that you just feel drawn to...that’s the one that’s reaching out.”  When he continued to frown at her, she leaned across the table to press her small hand against his.  “Don’t think about it.  Just feel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at her for another slow moment, and then, craving the warmth that she’d given him when she’d touched his hand, closed his eyes.  Inhaled once, and then breathed out slowly.  He could practically hear the rest of them snickering at him through the earpiece, and reached up, pretending to scratch his ear, and switched it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat would give him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> earful later for that, but she knew him well enough by now not to expect any differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Darcy said softly, her voice the only one dripping like honey in front of him.  “Pick a card to represent your past, your present, and your future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked his eyelids open, gaze fixed down on the table at front of him.  “That’s a lot of pressure for just one card each.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on what you’re bringing to the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve blew out a short laugh, and picked one card from the row farther from him on the left side, placing it in front of him and to the left.  The next, from the right side in front of Darcy, and the last, from the middle in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?  They’re just cards.  You’re not takin’ the SATs or anything,” she smiled, and folded the rest of the deck away into one neat pile by her side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two whiskey Cokes.”  Natasha’s announcement felt slightly less than welcome, almost like an intrusion, as she hovered over his shoulder and placed their drinks on coasters to keep the perspiring glasses from leaking into the table.  “Our pal here a natural yet, Darce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy flashed her a thin-lipped smile, like she felt interrupted, too.  Nat bumped Steve’s chair with her knee purposefully.  He tried not to look too much like he was glaring up at her when he turned his head.  “He’s doing his best not to be, seems like.  Really pushin’ at the realms of magic and destiny and stuff with all these questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic?”  Steve leaned into his elbow, tipping back his glass to sip at the sharp sting of whiskey that accompanied the Coke.  “I thought you said they were just cards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy brought her own glass to her lips and then folded her arms over her chest.  “I also said it depends on what you’re bringing to the table, Mister…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scott,” Steve said dumbly, shame flooding his ears in the form of a hot red blush as he pictured Scott Lang’s kind, eager face.  He half expected Nat to kick his chair again, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she was already halfway back to the bar.  “Scott Owens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Mister Owens, let’s go ahead and take a look at your past card, see what’s been bothering you.”  Her dainty fingers plucked the first card on his left and turned it over.  On the other side was a drawing of two swords crossed over the other, a woman with a blindfold standing behind them, the corners of her mouth turned downwards.  “The Two of Swords usually represents a difficult decision or an impasse.  So, something happening in your past that led you to a rough decision you’re still dealing with.  Maybe you had to make a choice you didn’t want to, or it’s a choice you have yet to make that you’re running from.”  She lifted an eyebrow at him, teasing, but a pang in his gut betrayed him.  He tried not to let it show on his face.  “You don’t really seem like the running type.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tore his gaze away from her face and back down to the cards, clearing his throat.  “Feels like running is par for the course around a place like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” was all she answered, before turning over the next card.  For a fleeting moment, he imagined those dark red fingernails sliding through his scalp, running through his hair as he found her lips in the night, and then scraping down his bare back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The middle card bore the drawing of a tall, regal looking man in a robe, his expression stone still beneath the crown on his head.  He stood between what looked like marble pillars, with golden glimmering keys resting at his feet, blocky lettering reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Hierophant</span>
  </em>
  <span> beneath them.  The card was also upside-down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Hierophant Reversed.”  He glanced back up at her, and it was as if she could see the gears turning in his head.  “The Hierophant usually stands for tradition, order, justice the way it should be.  In the tarot deck, his card is meant to represent the ultimate male mentor, someone who stands for righteousness, but sometimes needs to be reminded not to be so rigid.  If the Hierophant is reversed, it could mean that someone or something, even some behavior in your life, that typically follows the rules or upholds justice...is outta wack.  Maybe rebellion or...fighting against injustice is the way you’re trying to answer that problem you have, that difficult decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve fought the urge to let out a deep belly laugh.  That was one way of putting it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He met her eye with what he hoped was a sheepish smile. “I mean...we should always be fighting against injustice, shouldn’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That we should,” she said mildly, cocking her head to the side.  “You’re registered to vote, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time he didn’t fight the urge to laugh.  “Yes, yes, I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”  Her voice was soft and cool, as if she expected nothing less.  “You might </span>
  <em>
    <span>act </span>
  </em>
  <span>like this jaded, grizzled lumberjack type, but I’m sure, not so deep down, you’re a big AOC fan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” he chuckled, sipping at his drink.  “So I’m a big time rebel.  Don’t follow the rules, because I’ve got a big question I still need to answer.  What’s the future hold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she flipped the last card, Steve felt his heart settle warmly at the bottom of his chest.  Three nondescript figures held cups in their right hands and lifted them to the center, like one of those old-timey dances they did during the regency era.  Darcy smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three of Cups.  Friendship, collaboration.  This one is a really nice card because it stands for the people who love you and who are always there for you, and the fact that it pops up as part of your future tells me that whatever problems you’ve had, you’re only going to solve them with people to support you.”  Her eyes flickered up to his, soft and warm.  “You may wanna start bein’ nicer to the barkeep, if you’re looking for friends to help you with...your particular brand of rebellion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you’re right,” he said, pushing away from the table.  His glass was nearly empty now, and hers too.  “Maybe I could use a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit lightly on both lips, and they were somehow softer, redder, the slightest bit more inviting when she let them go.  “I’m gonna take another couple customers, but when I’m done I’m probably gonna step outside for a smoke break.  You wanna come with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dug through his pocket for the change Nat had given him for his drink and slipped the crumpled bills into the small glass tip jar next to her candles.  “Thanks, but I don’t smoke cigarettes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned.  “Me neither.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve remembered his mother exhaustedly advising him that smoking anything, tobacco and marijuana alike, would aggravate his asthma, and that she’d know if he’d tried either one, and if she ever caught him stinking up the house with either of those stenches, she’d flay him alive.  It hadn’t stopped him from defiantly dragging on one of the cigarettes Bucky gave him after a Dodgers game, but when he’d nearly thrown up on the coughing fit it caused, he’d avoided the stuff since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew the smell of weed just fine, had caught Wanda swiping her tongue across rolling papers before she’d flashed a devilish wink at him and offered him a toke.  But he’d never tried it; figured that now, after the serum, there was no point puffing uselessly if it would pass quickly through his blood, leaving him with no giggles or dry mouth to commemorate the experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Darcy blazed up a small blue pipe outside the back door of Nat’s bar, though, and offered him a hit, he couldn’t find it in him to say no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughed a little on the exhale, propping a hand to his hip to keep himself from doubling over.  It almost felt like being the ninety-pound kid again, hacking up his lungs under the standing room section.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t smoke this, either?” she teased gently, taking the bowl back and sparking up her lighter again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.  Shit’s still illegal in Nevada, you know.”  His eyes had begun to water, but he swallowed down the next cough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please.”  Her shoulder blades hit the brick wall behind her, and she tilted her face upward to meet his eye.  He hadn’t realized how small she was, the thought crossing his mind that he could place a hand to the wall above her head, lean in like he’d seen Bucky do a million times.  Like he’d tried to do with one of the USO girls on the tour about a hundred years ago, before she laughed in his face, then tugged him into her tent and ‘made him a man,’ in her own words.  “It’s the twenty-first century.  I shouldn’t have to defend my bad habits to a bunch of old white guys who think they can tell me what I can or can’t do with my body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she passed him the bowl back, and he took another long, slow hit, he was almost convinced that his limbs were getting heavy, that his eyes had gone a little dry.  “Amen to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed her pipe back and their fingers brushed again.  Darcy didn’t make any motion to move away from him, he could see her pupils wide and dark as her eyes crinkled in a half a smile.  His heart was thrumming in his chest and, like a coward, he pulled back first, mumbling an excuse about going to the bathroom, he’d be right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nat was waiting for him by the sink, where he splashed cool water into his face.  “Turn your fucking earpiece back on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ, Nat,” he huffed through the paper towel beneath his eyes.  “I was out for all of ten minutes.  I can handle myself.”  She didn’t budge, standing between him and the door.  “Ain’t this the men’s room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one unflinching hand, she snatched away his paper towel and shoved it into the wastebasket.  “I’m cleaning.  Turn your fucking earpiece back on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he was acting like a petulant child, but he made sure to make a show of rolling his eyes as he fiddled with the little bud in his head, Sam’s laughter coming in loud and clear once it was back on.  “Happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha took a step forward, her eyes narrowed as she looked into his soul.  “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>stoned</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they weren’t in public, he knew Sam and Wanda would be howling right about now.  “Steve?” Wanda gasped, he could practically see the melodramatic grin on her face.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Our</span>
  </em>
  <span> Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know we don’t lose contact until we’re all back at safehouses,” Nat said, as if nothing had happened.  “Come </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, be a captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not me anymore and you know it.”  He slipped around her, reaching for the handle.  “I’ll keep it on.  Don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let yourself get sloppy.”  It came out like a warning.  Her voice lifted on the next part.  “She’s a nice girl.  Don’t fuck around with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he were another man, he’d say he wouldn’t before closing the door behind him.  But he wasn’t Captain America anymore, barely even Steve Rogers anymore.  So he said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy was at her table when he came out, the chair opposite her suspiciously empty.  He didn’t need to take the hint to occupy it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all outta customers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I scared ‘em off after the last guy got the Devil card and the Three of Swords in a row.”  She lifted her pale shoulders into a soft shrug.  “Some people just don’t get how </span>
  <em>
    <span>symbolism</span>
  </em>
  <span> works.  Getting the Devil doesn’t mean you’re going to meet the devil, getting Death doesn’t mean you’re gonna die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People ‘round here probably wouldn’t wanna push their luck, though,” he noted, sliding one of her candles back and forth between his hands.  “Maybe they’re runnin’ from the devil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of her laugh was one of his new favorites, hearty and shameless, and whenever she stopped, he was ready to do anything to make her start up again.  It mostly made up for the sounds of everyone else in his head.  The candle flame flickered when he slid it once more from one hand to the other, and Darcy smacked down on him gently.  “Take it easy with that, you’re gonna burn the place down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said, not particularly sorry, and made no move to take his hand away from hers.  “How’d you end up here anyway?  Tellin’ fortunes and smoking weed in a little dive place with lumberjack-looking assholes like me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted, shaking her head.  She didn’t take her hand off his either, though, and looking down at her fingers on his, began to stroke the flat space between his thumb and index with her nail.  “You got an interesting way of asking a girl about herself, Scott Owens.  I...was a student.  Didn’t love what I was doing, so I wanted to explore the country and see what Americana was like without being catcalled by brother-cousins with no teeth, so I ended up here.  Jay, the guy who owns the place, he took me in for a little bit, so I pop in every so often.  Thought Halloween’d be a good time to...play with the fates a little.  Hence the cards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flipped his hand over, so it was palm up.  Steve could practically hear his heart in his throat.  A slender finger ran down the lines of his skin, as if to trace his handprint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I know what this one means,” she mused, grazing the bumps below his knuckle.  “You’re going to live to be a hundred and twenty years old, as long as you lay off the gas station nachos.  Your soulmate still listens to...baseball on the radio and likes to fall asleep to the sounds of the ocean.  If you haven’t already, you’re going to meet them in a dumpy place like this, and you’re gonna be the one who initiates, but you do like them to make the first move every once in a while.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her blue eyes sparkled when she glanced up at him, smiling.  There was the tiniest gap between her two front teeth.  “You’ll live in an apartment that looks over some nature scene, maybe a park or a little community garden.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned his hand to the side, and was now inspecting the length of skin between his wrist and his pinky.  “You’re close with your mother, and she’s probably a Pisces.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was leaning forward now, and any teasing that might have been in the earpiece was drowned out under the sound of Darcy’s softening voice, her words low and husky as she flipped his hand palm-up into hers, pressing her fingers into his.  “You can be passionate and reckless, but that doesn’t change the way people feel about you.  Once you make a friend, they’re in it with you for the long haul.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something warm and a little painful rose inside him on that last bit, but he didn’t care.  His free hand was in her hair, cupping the back of her neck, and she was close…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scott,” she whispered, crystal eyes boring into his, but she didn’t move away from him.  “We’re kinda in public.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he said.  He tipped his forehead down to meet hers.  “Will Jay be mad if you skip out on reading anybody else’s palm in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled back at last, but only to blow out the candles between them and shove her tip jar into her purse.  “I don’t know how to read palms.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Steve had expected that they couldn’t get to his motel room fast enough, but before she could even step a foot into the parking lot and spot his dumpy little blue Volkswagen, Darcy stopped in her tracks.  He didn’t realize that he’d still been holding onto her hand until he felt the soft tug of her freezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?” he began to ask, poking a finger into his ear to turn the piece off again, but then her hands were on both sides of his face, and she was pulling him down to meet her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly forgot to close his eyes when they kissed, but that blissful moment of watching her curling dark lashes cling together as she reached for him made it very much worthwhile.  Her kiss was soft, sweet; she tasted like the Coke and whiskey Nat had left for them earlier, and something fruity, a little tangy, as her lips left his.  When he opened his eyes she was already smiling, and just looking at her he felt as though his feet were beginning to leave the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” she whispered, her thumb on his chin, “I really wanted to kiss you in there, but...I didn’t want to wait until we got where we were going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be sorry.”  He brushed one of her curls out of her face, laughing a little as he bumped the brim of her hat stepping back.  “We got plenty of time for kissin’ tonight if you’re up for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers looped through his belt, but she pushed him backward toward the parking lot.  “Then let’s get outta here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the drive to the motel was long, he didn’t notice, her hand on the back of his neck while he chugged along the road with the radio up and the lyrics on her rich, dark lips.  His cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And we played the first thing that came to our heads</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>And it just so happened to be</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>The best song in the world,</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>It was the best song in the world…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was dancing in her seat, one arm hanging loosely out the window.  When he glanced over, she was singing to the blacktop of the pavement in front of them, lost in the music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ever listen to Tenacious D?” she asked, as the song’s guitar faded into the next song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t say that I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, shit.  We’re gonna have to build that music library, pal.”  Her nails scritched gently at the coarse hairs on the back of his neck.  “Next you’re gonna tell me you’ve never listened to...Fleetwood Mac, or the Doors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” he laughed softly, putting the car in park and turning off the ignition.  “You oughta give me more credit than that.  Stevie Nicks was one of the first artists I got into when I...when I was younger.”  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been younger, about five years younger, and Natasha had blasted Stevie Nicks whenever they sparred in the Tower after the Battle of New York.  He’d liked it - crunchy guitar chords, a voice that was damn near inimitable, real soul with every note.  “I picked the song earlier tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit.”  She smiled, her body angling toward his in her seat.  “I didn’t take you for an ‘Edge of Seventeen’ guy.  Figured if you did listen, you’d be more…’Dreams’ or ‘Little Lies.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a versatile guy,” he said, lowering his voice and angling himself toward her, too.  He reached for her first this time, his hand to the back of her neck as he leaned in, his nose brushing hers before their lips met.  She swiped her tongue across his, teeth baring down on his lower lip when he caught himself gasping into her touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released him with another soft smile.  “God, you’re beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we...get out of the car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss she planted on his lips this time was far too gentle, too tempting, like the touch of a butterfly before she sat back in her seat and clicked open the door.  “Best idea you’ve had all night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a short flash of panic, Steve went through a quick mental sweep of the room: nothing out to incriminate him or give him away, save maybe the record player he’d propped on the nightstand and the laptop on his desk - though the latter really didn’t have any evidence on it, except what he was about to upload onto it from the stick in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have much time to panic, though.  Darcy had tossed her hat onto the armchair by the TV, and her hands slid through his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp as she covered his mouth with hers, again and again.  His hands found their way to the plush swell of her ass, pulling her close to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel his heart stammering with nerves.  It had been...a while, since anything like this had happened, for him at least.  He felt rusty, suddenly too conscious of his big body and the way it crowded hers in the short hallway from his door to the rest of the dingy little room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” she breathed into his lips, rucking his shirt up around his waist, tugging the hem out of the waistband of his jeans.  “You’re thinking so loud.  Just...feel me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducked his head and kissed her hard, his hands at the small of her back, her dress bunching between his knuckles.  It was like being punch-drunk; every movement was soft, quiet, like it had been blurred by water in his eyes and in his ears, and for a fleeting moment he realized he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to fuck her, he wanted to do this properly, to make her grab and squirm and cry out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t make it to the bed before he dropped to a knee, sliding his hands under her dress and peeling the fabric up and over her head.  She wore a thin lacy bra and panties to match, and he could nearly feel the want radiating from deep in his stomach.  Darcy drew in a shaky breath when he pressed his lips down to her collarbone and then, bending again, backed her into the side of his bed to kiss the slope between her breasts, the soft skin above her navel, her hip, the tender spot at the back of her knee and then her thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, honey,” she sighed, threading her fingers through his hair.  “Please - please, I - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her panties stripped down to her knees, she pushed a knee into the sharp angle of his shoulder blade.  He grinned, and, leaning his cheek into her inner thigh, kissed her where she wanted, trying not to let his beard scrape her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t tasted a woman in a long time either - he almost felt like drowning himself in her, how wet she already was for him, her hips stuttering into his face.  He rolled a long stripe up her center with his tongue before covering her clit with his mouth.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” she sighed, and scrambled for him, pulling his hand to her chest so he could drag a fingernail across her stiff nipple under her bra.  He let his gaze meet hers, her pupils blown and her eyelids hooded with want. She bit down on her lip, kneading the breast that his thumb was teasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pressed his forearm to the flat valley between her hips, pinning her into place.  Darcy was lithe and hungry under his touch, squeezing hard on his hair.  He slid his hand back down her body to spread her open for him, and, with his lips sealed to her clit, circled her opening with the tip of his finger.  “Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t, I’m gonna make you watch me do it myself,” she breathed, the threat dying on her lips as he pushed in, slowly, gliding past his knuckle.  After that, she didn’t exactly say much, but communicated her needs through soft little moans and keens and her fingers threading messily through Steve’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squirmed and gasped as he found his rhythm, curling one finger, and then a second, inside her; as gently as he could hold her hips down, they rolled and bucked against his mouth, and if she cared about his beard rubbing at her thighs she certainly didn’t show it.  Her knees clamped tight around his head, and when he pressed his tongue purposefully into the bud of her clit, she made a high, soft sound that made his cheeks go hot and his cock begin to throb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Darcy whispered, her hands suddenly on the collar of his shirt.  She was yanking him up to bury her face in his neck, to snake her arms around his torso, to angle her hips up to feel him hard against her thigh.  “Please, I need you to fuck me, please - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on.”  He pushed himself back onto his shins, yanking his shirt over his head and toeing off his shoes before he could shift his body onto the bed properly.  There was a pack of condoms in his nightstand - Nat had thought she’d been helpful, and he’d never thought hard enough about them to throw them away, thankfully.  He reached for the handle, Darcy’s fingernails dragging down his bare skin, her mouth soft and hot on his shoulder, then slid the drawer open and flicked open the top of the box, scrabbling to pluck one foil square off the thin chain of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” she said again, mouthing his clavicle, popping open the button of his jeans and shoving them down his legs.  “You don’t get to make me come like that and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled.  “Impatient, huh?”  He slid an arm around her waist and centered her on the bed, flexing his fingers over the smooth plane of her ass before they bit down.  “Say ‘please’ again, and I’ll think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let him have some teeth this time, her eyes flashing up dangerously at him when she released at his moan.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could say or do anything else, she’d snatched the condom from between his fingers and torn it open, sliding it slickly onto his cock.  He felt himself suck in a long, low breath, and then she was pushing on his chest until he was flat on his back, and she had a knee on either side of his hips.  “Okay?” she hummed, tracing his jaw with her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed at the clasp between her shoulder blades, so that her bra came loose and so she could press herself to him skin-to-skin.  Darcy covered his mouth with hers again, then lined up and slid down onto him, her nails digging into his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Darcy.”  She was soft and wet and fluttered pleasantly around him, he could feel her stretching to accommodate him.  “God, you feel good, sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She might have hissed something out, but he was lost already.  In her determined blue eyes, or her dark cascading hair, or the swell of her breasts as they bounced against him, her voice cradling him as much as the pillow under his head.  He called her name, tearing it out of his chest, while she rocked on top of him, seating him deep inside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve met her with upward thrusts.  His hands bit into her hips, slid up her ass and into her hair to drag her down for another kiss, her tongue pushing, languid and filthy, into his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He curled his elbow around her middle and shifted her under him - he wanted to stay tangled, stay inside her, but it wasn’t going to work.  She smiled at his soft shudder when he pulled out, scooting her ass lower on the bed to make room for both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she’d lifted her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and he found a new angle and a new depth, and the light in her eyes was high and sharp at the same time.  She grabbed onto the coarse hairs at the back of his neck, her head slinking back into the pillow to bare her throat for him.  He found her pulse point with his teeth, nipping her softly before he trailed a line back down to her collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy moaned for him, her hand pulling on his and bringing it up toward her neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to ask twice before she’d brought his palm over the taut cords of her throat, squeezing down gently as he picked up his pace again, feeling himself begin to react to her growing softer and wetter around him.  Her hands traced a path down her own smooth flesh, and she teased her fingers between them to roll her index against her clit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, Darcy,” he choked out, and just as her eyes fluttered shut, he felt his forehead drop to her shoulder, felt himself begin to lose rhythm.  He saw white when the hand on his back clawed a sharp line down to his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thrusts became shallow and ragged, and with the loosening of his hand around her throat, Steve felt Darcy cling her hips to his, riding out her own orgasm and rippling the hair behind his ear with her sharp inhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, babe.”  He felt his knees go to jelly as she lay back against the sheets, her legs untangling from around his waist.  “Shit, sorry, I - here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought the trip from the bed to the sink might feel awkward, but the tiny smile she flashed him when he returned, not dazzling, but gloriously and painfully intimate, assuaged any of his worries.   There was silence while they cleaned themselves up; to Steve’s surprise, it wasn’t heavy or tense.  His stomach filled with butterflies when she accidentally brushed against him, even more when she kind of smiled and giggled about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry if I - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” she said quickly, one hand closing over his thigh.  “Do not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>try </span>
  </em>
  <span>to say sorry for that.  That was...the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her nose bumped his when he leaned down to kiss her again, because he couldn’t help himself.  “Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opened his eyes again, her expression was still soft, but there was sadness in her face, too.  “God, I really don’t want you to take this the wrong way...but I kind of have to work in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart dropped into his stomach.  “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brought his palm to her cheek, pressing small kisses to his thumb when it crossed her lips.  “I swear, if it were any other time, I would call out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.”  He found her hand in the dim motel light and planted a kiss of his own to her knuckles.  “Can I give you a ride back to your car?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re home already, sweetie,” she said, and before he could protest, she was on her feet, picking her bra and panties off the floor.  “Besides, I don’t know if your jalopy could make the trek all the way back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile tugged on the corners of his lips.  “Hey, you leave the old gal outta this.  She ain’t done anything to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she didn’t.”  Once she had looped her arms through the sleeves of her dress, she came back to him, hands on his bare shoulders.  “I’ll let you call me a cab, though.  If you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slung his arms around her waist.  “I think I can handle that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took their time calling a cab, all hands and lips and limbs still tangled together when the headlights flashed through the curtains and the driver leaned into the horn.  When Darcy finally pulled away, she smiled sadly up at him with those big blue eyes, and Steve brushed a smudge of mascara away from her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I see you again?” he asked, afraid to be too hopeful for the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see…”  She plunged a hand into her purse, fumbling around before producing a small black card, dotted with tiny gold stars.  There was only writing on one side: her name, the label “TAROT READER,” and a phone number.  “Hang onto this for me, yeah?  I, uh...I’m not planning on sticking around Vegas for long, you know?  But…”  She let him open the door, one hand still on her waist.  “...I’d love to hear from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  Yeah, I’d like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it,” she said, with one final, determined glance before she slipped out of his arms, heading through the gravel lot to the backseat of the cab.  “Don’t be a stranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Long after the tires had crunched onto the freeway and the car had become little more than a yellow dot in the darkness, Steve could still feel her lips on his, her hands on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found his jeans on the floor, tucked the card into one pocket, and removed the USB from the other.  As Nat’s voice crackled back to life in his ear, he fell into place at his desk and booted up his laptop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoy your evening?” she asked poisonously, with the sounds of Sam’s amused silence and Wanda’s quiet giggling in the background.  It reminded him a little of how his mother would be waiting for him after he’d snuck out with Bucky on a school night, her skinny arms folded over her chest, hair still perfectly in place before she was off to her shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Natasha may have ripped him a new one, as she was apt to do, but even as she instructed him what to do with this dirt on Ross, he couldn’t get Darcy out of his head.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The next morning, he met Wanda outside the Moonbeam Diner on Christopher St., opting for a beanie and a flannel instead of his usual ball cap and sunglasses look.  She grinned when she saw him, slipping her arm through his before he could push open the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a good night last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of your business, Maximoff.  C’mon, let’s get some coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she wore this smug little expression walking into the diner in front of him, settling into the opposite end of a vinyl booth.  Sam and Natasha had already been seated on the side of the diner that wrapped around the street corner, across from them a young woman with beachy blonde hair coiffed into thick curls around her head.  He could tell from here that she spoke quietly, averted her eyes under Natasha’s gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda threaded her fingers between his, pretending to whisper sweet nothings as her other hand came under her hair </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he flicked his earpiece on, her voice flooded in the way he’d expected: gentle, cautious, smooth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t testify,” she was saying wetly, trying to drown her tears into a napkin.  “I have a family, my parents…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have ways of protecting you.”  Natasha came in soothingly, and he could picture her reaching across the table to close her hand around the young woman’s.  “We can keep you safe, and with what you’ve given us, you and your family can be put into witness protection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to hide.  I can’t...I don’t want to give him that satisfaction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nearly flinched when he felt the waitress suddenly appear at their table, his blood going still when her voice, clear as day and just as familiar, said, “Morning, folks.  What can I get you - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy stopped when he looked slowly up at her, crystal blue eyes widening and flickering between him and Wanda.  Her cheeks were bright and full of color, lips parted, and he realized </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what it looked like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> believe this,” she muttered, turning on her heel, and before he could stop himself, Steve had gotten his feet under him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on - please, will you just let me explain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve,” Sam said into the earpiece, his voice low in warning.  “You’re making a scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up; a few of the diners at the nearest tables had gone quiet, heads lifted to catch a glimpse of what was going on.  He let his chin drop to his chest, but didn’t drop back into the booth.  “Wanda, can you just give us a minute?  I’ll keep my eyes open, I swear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mind me,” Wanda said, pushing against the table and heading for the bathroom.  “I can just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy glanced over her shoulder at the rest of the bustling employees behind the counter, and cautiously came to the seat Wanda had just vacated.  Her frown didn’t unfurl when he sat back down, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not my girlfriend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy lifted an eyebrow at him, her lips half-puckering in disbelief.  “No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she’s just...we’re friends.  It’s not...there isn’t anything romantic between us, we just have to...”  God, it just sounded </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> and awful coming out of his mouth.  Like lunacy.  “...pretend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him for a moment, folding one arm over the other on the table in front of her.  “Well, shit.  I always thought you guys would be cute together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beat passed.  “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, glancing over her shoulder again to make sure she wasn’t missed behind the counter.  “Your name is not Scott Owens, and you didn’t just blow into town.  I figured it out the second you sat down last night, when I realized that” - her voice lowered here, and she leaned closer - “half the fucking Avengers were sitting in that bar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ears went very, very hot.  “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I didn’t flirt with you because of that, I just...you were just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  You know?”  She met his eyes again, with the same vulnerability and softness they’d had the night before.  “You were sweet, and kind, and you cared about me before you even spoke to me.”  The hints of a smile pulled wantonly on her lips.  “Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>I like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat spread from his ears full across to the apples of his cheeks.  “And you still do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darcy rested her hand on top of his.  “I still do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help his eyes flickering from hers to her lips, still so pink and flushed, the tiny gap between her front teeth…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darcy!” someone shouted over his shoulder, and he felt himself flinch backward, his stomach dropping in embarrassment.  One of the cooks, a heavyset white man with a very oily forehead, was leaning through the window to the kitchen, a steaming plate on the counter beside him.  “You done flirtin’?  I got your order up for Table 29.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, but pushed away from the table anyway, shooting the cook a glare on her way up.  “Jesus, Chuck, keep your pants on, I’m comin’.”  He felt his insides melt as she turned a kinder smile on him, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear.  “You still got that card I left, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded once, his finger finding it in his front pocket.  Her smile grew brighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.  You give me a call when you’re not America’s Most Wanted, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanda had appeared again, standing behind him, and Natasha caught his gaze for a half second, a playful glint flashing across her face before she turned back to the woman in front of her.  He could hear Sam breathe out a soft chuckle in his earpiece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.  Yeah, I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next stop, Nat said later that afternoon, was with a Manhattan lawyer she wouldn’t name who was familiar with helping out the little guy.  A layer of relief washed through Steve as he steered his stupid little car out of the desert once and for all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the sun started to set on the miles of highway in his rearview, he let the hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel come to rest on his lap, thinking of the name on the little black card in his pocket, and the girl it belonged to.</span>
</p>
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